


satellite

by cicadas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Marriage, Past Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/cicadas
Summary: Peter feels like a satellite. His bright lights are beautiful, but he was never going to be in Tony's orbit.





	satellite

**Author's Note:**

> for saturn

The ceremony is beautiful.

Expensive champagne in thin flutes, bubbles reaching tight, smiling lips and white teeth. The theme is gold and blue, silky ribbons in pale sky draped over the back of each pew - the candles of the cathedral lit with permission from the church, the high ceiling allowing sunlight to glow through the stained-glass windows.

There is white gardenia everywhere. Curled around door frames and in tall, glazed ceramic vases along the walls, behind the altar, at the signing table. The soft floral smell adds to the story-book wonder of the day.

Smiles and friendly chatter and orchestral music from speakers nestled among the candelabras echo through the hall. The vibe of the event is so pleasant it seems to seep into his pores.

He's almost sick with it. Or maybe he's just drunk.

 

Peter's suit is a tight-fitting navy blue, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His tie was loosened a fraction when his fourth champagne made it feel too tight around his neck. He hasn't caught sight of Tony yet, but he knows he's wearing a white suit. Never one to be shown up by anybody; even Pepper in her bridal gown. It's beautiful, just as she is. She's wearing soft pink lipstick that leaves imprints on her drinking glass, and her cheeks are a warm blush whenever she's complimented.

Peter hasn't gone that far yet.

A waiter with sweet-pea blooms in her vest pocket walks by, and Peter grabs two flutes from the tray she's holding up, practised and sure.

He mentions something about a friend in the bathroom to make himself feel better about the glass in each of his hands. The waiter pays him no mind, smile plastered to her face as she makes her way toward a cluster of people nearby.

Peter sips at one glass and tucks the other behind a gardenia vase. He wouldn't be surprised if the wood of the stool it's placed on is made from some ancient Redwood. The vase itself looks to be more expensive than his suit was. Stark had offered to buy him one: he'd declined. He didn't want fabric the man had bought for him rubbing against his skin while he watched him marry someone else.

It was the exact reason Peter had cleared out his closet weeks before. Shirts, shoes, jackets - anything the man had bought him went in garbage bags to be brought to the nearby homeless shelter. The underwear - God, the amount of underwear he had, some of it custom made - went in the trash. As much as he couldn't bear wearing them again, having that soft fabric made so lovingly for him stretched across his ass, he didn't want anybody else to have them either.

Kind of like the way Stark felt about him.

Peter nearly brought a date to the wedding just to spite him.

He noted how his invitation didn't have the option for a plus one; How he got a seat right up the front row; that his place at dinner is as close to Tony as he can get without invading on Pepper's side of the family. As for Tony's side, well, they either weren't invited or neglected to come. Neither would surprise him.

 

More and more people start to fill the entrance of the cathedral. Outside is beautiful and not too breezy, so the majority of the crowd stay out, but Tony Stark is Tony Stark, and his wedding attracts people despite the next several blocks being blocked off with security.

They must be nearing the ceremony. It's half eleven, now. Forty odd minutes and Tony will be a married man.

He can see Pepper from his place by the holy water - a place he hasn't moved from for a good twenty minutes. She's talking to Wong, and they're laughing. She looks a lot less frightening when she smiles. And Wong probably couldn't look frightening if he tried.  
He's not in a suit, opting instead for his usual terracotta robes, which Peter both respects and envies. His own suit is getting too warm for him. He downs the rest of the champagne, sets it down by his feet and reaches for the full one. The cool glass is a risk on his fingertips. How many glasses can he get away with not smashing today?

By the altar, pre-assuming his position, is Rhodey. Best man. Peter can tell he's excited through that War Machine face. Happy is somewhere outside, being told to stop monitoring the guests. The second best man. Peter knows this because Tony told him while drunk several months ago.

_"See, at my wedding, there ain't gonna be anybody I don't want standing up there with me. There's gonna be Happy, and there's gonna be Rhodey. They're the only people that I trust. They can be best men. Both of them. Both my best men, no lesser man. That's what I'm gonna do."_

Peter didn't let himself feel jealous at his name not being mentioned. He knew it wasn't going to be him standing opposite Tony, so why would he want to stand alongside him. Get a premium view of the end of their infidelity.

 

He has a few minutes to get another drink before his metabolism kicks in and ruins the buzz he's been working on for an hour. There's a bar, but he's sure it isn't open until after the service. If it was, that's where a lot of the guests would be milling.

"Peter, hi!" Someone calls his name - a woman, young, by the sounds of it - and it has Peter turning to the middle of the room to find her.

"Mr. Stark sent me out to find you, wanted to make sure you're enjoying yourself."

It's Dora. The replacement intern when Peter left. Confident, smart, dutiful, willing to follow Tony around with folders and has no problem reporting to Happy with most of her updates.

Doesn't send long, drawn-out looks his way. Doesn't wait too long after being told to go home.

Didn't seduce him and fuck him in the lower-level bathroom of the compound after dark when she was supposed to be studying.

She hasn't been inappropriate at all, which is why she's the perfect replacement. Pepper even gave her a rundown on how to organise his appointments, what heel height doesn't hurt your feet at the end of the day, best places to get coffee on her break.

Peter thinks she'll have a full P.A title by the end of the year.

 

Peter opens his mouth, goldfishes for a moment, then latches his lips around the rim of his empty champagne glass.

"That's empty, Peter. Did you want me to walk you to your seat? The ceremony will start soon." She says.

Peter eyes her, half-lidded and admittedly a little greasily. She's pretty, but not obnoxiously so. He can see why Pepper approved. Or maybe that's just him being a dick.

Dora must have noticed, because she tugs at the hem of her fitted blazer, wipes some invisible dust from her sleeves and looks at him.

"Peter, as much as I like you, I'm not here to be friends, I'm here to keep my job. Now would you please just tell me you're not gonna incite a riot so I can take you to your seat?"

Peter felt his mouth sour. "So you're on babysitting duty?"

"I'm on _you_ duty. Whether youre gonna be a baby or not is up to you. C'mon, put that down, it's empty. There are water bottles in ice behind the bar, I'll go get you one." Dora takes the flute from his hand with no resistance, and Peter finds himself blankly staring after her as she makes her way through the small crowd to get him a water.

Peter steps forward to follow her, and the room spins. Fuck, he doesn't remember drinking this much.

He finds shuffling his feet a little with each step helps with his balance. Bathrooms. He needs a bathroom, somewhere quiet - quieter than in here, even.

His Spidey Sense is going off at nothing and everything, hands tingling with an urgency his brain hasn't caught up to yet. What is it? What-

"Peter?"

Oh, yeah, that'd be it.

 

Peter spots Tony the same time Dora does, having just emerged from behind a group of old men in veteran uniforms. She's holding a plastic water bottle in one hand.

Stark looks amazing. Hair gelled back, beard trimmed. His big, emotional eyes are sharp as they watch him.

Dora cuts in, holding the bottle out. "I was just making sure he was hydrated, Mr. Stark." She says, eyeing him carefully.

Tony waves at her, one of those _it's fine, don't worry, you can go now_ gestures Peter used to be on the receiving of too often.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Hey, why don't you go do the rounds and I'll catch up with Peter, alright?" He says, grabbing the water, grabbing Peter's shoulder at the same time.

The touch makes him feel like he's going to be sick. Wait, no - He really is going to be sick.

Peter smacks a hand up at Stark, mouth moving to speak but no intelligible words coming out.

"Off, get-get. Get off me," The noise all around him seem to jumble the words in his mouth. He can't speak properly. He's going to be sick.

He can feel a warmth spread along his back as tony moves behind him, shepherding him somewhere. Away from people, hopefully.

He hates them. He hates them all, smiling and drinking and toasting to a wedding that shouldn't even be fucking happening. They don't know Tony. They don't know what's good for him.

He's push-walked up a few stairs and into a corridor, through a door and then he's in a small bathroom. The dull light and the brown rectangle floor tiles tell him the place hasn't been redone in a while.

Funny that that's what he's thinking about.

"Peter."

No, he's not gonna listen, cause he's not gonna be calling him his baby while they're wearing suits in this church bathroom. Peter reaches up to plug his fingers in his ears - still tingling slightly - but he's stopped by two hands gripping his wrists.

"Peter, what the fuck are you doing, sweetheart?" Tony murmurs. "You're a mess."

Peter tilts his head up to look at him - when did he get onto the floor? - but his eyes end uo on the door. It's closed behind him. He can't see if it's locked or not.

 _Sweetheart_.

"Not s'posed to call me that." Peter says. Mumbles. Spit is heavy in his mouth.

Tony seems too far away when he speaks. "I know, I'm sorry. Are you gonna throw up?"

Peter nods. He can't seem to do much else.

"Toilet's right behind you, kid." He says, and that brings the bile right up to his tongue.

"Fuck you, Stark. Can't call me baby anymore so y-you're gonna go back to that patronizing crap? Fuck you." He says. It's completely coherent.

"Peter, keep your voice down, Jesus,"

"Why? You've got me in some fucken' basement stall toilet tryna hide me from your guests. I don't even want to be here! Why did you invite me to your fucking wedding?"

Stark sighs, squats down at risk of wrinkling his suit and places a hand on his shoulder. Again.

"I care about you. So does Pepper. We both wanted you here."

"Don't care 'bout me enough to keep fucking me though, right?" Peter spits, and watches Tony's expression change entirely. He's kicked his toe over a line, he knows it, but he doesn't care. Champagne stirs in his stomach.

Peter's mouth feels hot. Saliva, dripping down his cheeks and his throat as he feels it -

He turns around in time to aim most of the vomit to the tiles behind him. He shuffles forward as the next wave hits, and has his head in the toilet bowl just as his stomach heaves again. His mouth tastes sour. He can feel a hand on his back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. He vomits again.

 

Peter's never been this drunk before. His body hurts. His mouth tastes fucking disgusting.

Peter spits into the bowl.

 

"I've gotta get back out there, Peter. It wouldn't be much of a wedding if I didn't show up to the altar, huh?"

He wishes he wouldn't make jokes. He wishes he'd just leave already.

Peter's stomach tenses again. He leans further into the toilet, but nothing comes out.

The hand leaves his back.

"I'll send Dora in to check on you. Make sure you drink that water, alright?" Stark says.

Peter doesn't have it in him to argue anymore, so he just nods. His head doesn't leave the toilet bowl.

"Take care of yourself," His shoes squeak as he stands. Peter hears the lock slide open, and knows this is the end of it. The end of Them. Fitting it's finalised in a bathroom.

 

"I loved you," Peter says.

"I know," Is Tony's reply.

Then he steps out, shutting the bathroom door behind him, and Peter is alone.

The swell of the music reaches him in the bathroom as it's gradually turned up.

It's something soft and familiar, violin-heavy. He thinks may might have had this at her wedding with Ben. She played it for him once.

 

Peter listens to the minister's voice over the speakers. To the vows he knows Pepper probably wrote over and over until they were perfect. When it comes to be Tony's turn, Peter's ears start to ring.

He replays the circles on his back.

_"You're doing so good for me. My baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?"_

The vice grip on his shoulder.

_"You're so tight, all for me, right? My sweet boy. You're such a sweet boy, Peter,"_

The ache in his lower back after that first time.

The feeling in his chest whenever he'd been called _his._

 

 

He doesn't hear them say 'I do' over the blood rushing in his ears.

He figures it's for the best.

One less thing to forget.

 

 


End file.
